


Luce's Law

by HooahSergeant



Series: The Law Series [11]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Cop Drama, F/F, FBI Agent Quinn Fabray, Future Fic, Original Character(s), non-linear time line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23537236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HooahSergeant/pseuds/HooahSergeant
Summary: It was intended to be something nice for Quinn and maybe a bit of a peace offering. Unfortunately most of Rachel's plans backfire, and this one is no different. Sometimes, however, the punishment for a good deed can turn out to be a blessing in disguise.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Series: The Law Series [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693714
Kudos: 10





	Luce's Law

“Luce’s Law” – No good deed goes unpunished. 

\---

There weren’t very many people that Quinn kept in contact with after high school. Mostly because why would she, but also because there was a certain amount of growing up and growing apart that had taken place and those friendships they’d sworn would last a lifetime had faded. They (meaning the Glee Club, mostly) had scattered to the four winds after graduation, and they built lives, careers, and families, and things like staying in touch with McKinley alumni had fallen to the wayside, no longer as important. Quinn herself had grown up and moved on, and the memories of faces she used to see every day in the slushy sticky floors of McKinley High had grown fuzzy.

Puck was one exception – as much as that pained her – they had a child together and that had bonded them together. Some days she was grateful for that - for him - and for the fact that they hadn’t simply gone their separate ways after… after it was all said and done. He was a godsend in some ways because Shelby still was leery of crazy!Quinn, and Puck, despite his less than stellar background, was always welcome to visit and see Beth. Quinn was certain that if Shelby ever found out Puck was sneaking her videos and pictures he might wind up cut off too. Part of her was just as wary of Shelby because Rachel certainly didn’t have the fondest of memories of her wayward mother, and Quinn didn’t want to put pressure on Rachel; she definitely wasn’t looking forward to the fallout that might occur when Shelby found out that they were dating. 

Puck though... it was still strange to think of him as being anything other than an ass, but the Marines had drilled some hard-earned life lessons into him and he was dangerously close to becoming a respectable, good man in his “old” age. Perhaps that was why he was allowed to see Beth.

The only other exception, the one that exasperated and comforted at the same time, was Santana. 

Quinn hadn’t ever mentioned it to Rachel but Santana was surprisingly clingy. She didn’t mention it because Rachel had never really moved on or made peace with Santana, and giving either of them more ammo would have been catastrophic. As caustic as Santana could be Quinn loved getting her emails and sporadic phone calls, the sweet touch of nostalgia making her smile fondly instead of wincing at memories of the past. 

The trouble with Santana, even still, was her thoughts on Rachel and the relationship that Quinn had “fucking jumped into like some crazy puta! You know where that’s been!”

While Quinn couldn’t deny that she appreciated Santana’s no-longer shaky loyalty and the protectiveness, it caused some strain. Santana didn’t like hearing about Rachel and Rachel was deeply offended by Santana’s “unnecessarily cruel and hateful remarks, no doubt fueled by some sort of deep-seated jealousy.”

Navigating around the two of them was sort of like walking through a minefield without any sort of map, never knowing when she would step in the wrong place and create a massive crater where she’d once been standing. 

Quinn grew tired of fighting with each of them about the other so she suffered through not being able to speak to one about the other. She hated it, wanting to be able to share her relationship with Rachel with Santana, and more-so detested the feeling that she was keeping some sort of secret from Rachel. There were too many unspoken things, untold stories that she’d kept from Rachel already, and it left a bad taste in her mouth. 

Then a glimmer of foolish hope appeared. After being released from the hospital Quinn received a phone call from Santana, slightly frantic and full of tangled Spanglish with more expletives than Quinn had ever heard from her – and that was saying something.

Rachel had called Santana – a gesture which Quinn appreciated and thanked her for to the very best of her abilities whilst in a damnable sling and immersed in the fog of painkillers. 

One tiny wrinkle that Rachel hadn’t immediately foreseen (and was currently frantically preparing for) was Santana deciding to come and visit, to make sure that Quinn didn’t have robot parts or that Rachel didn’t have Munchausen By Proxy Syndrome. Knowing Santana that meant she was going to be staying with them without any sort of direct invitation, because she was Santana and she thrived on conflict. Quinn kind of thought that Santana didn’t actually despise Rachel, that she actually liked Rachel more than she’d ever want to admit and that the constant ribbing had more to do with getting amusement out of watching Rachel explode with righteous fury. 

She’d never admit it, but it was actually kind of fun. 

Santana’s impromptu visit also meant that Rachel was making list upon list of every item in the house (for Little Miss Sticky Fingers!) and putting together a pre-thought out notebook full of “witty comebacks and stinging barbs with which to melt faces!” – and yes, the notebook was titled exactly that in glitter infused gel pen right on the cover. All of which led Quinn to believe that Rachel was secretly looking forward to having a guest. She was going out of her way to assist Santana in having things to be indignant about, which would lead to them arguing and trading insults, just like the old days.

All of it left Quinn teetering between amusement and terror at how Santana’s visit was going to turn out. She was painfully aware that if the verbal jousting morphed into an actual fist fight she wasn’t going to be able to do much to pry them apart. Except maybe spray them with a squirt bottle like her aunt did to her annoying poodle. That would actually, probably, work disturbingly well on Rachel and Santana. They were both a bit like disgruntled Chihuahuas anyway. Not that Quinn would ever make that comparison to their faces. 

At this point she was just trying not to think about it too much; it made her head hurt almost as much as her shoulder, chest, arm… okay, whole upper body. Her physical therapist was taking way too much joy in “rehabilitating” her. 

Unable to sleep despite the grogginess of the painkillers and contentment of being in her nice warm bed, Quinn laid still watching Rachel sleep next to her and the hours tick by on the alarm clock, trying to organize her muddled thoughts and form some sort of plan on how to get two important people in her life to behave. 

She did love to watch Rachel sleep, so at least the insomnia offered her that opportunity. Her good hand was drawn to Rachel’s bare back and the small tattoo on her shoulder, fingers tracing over the ink forever etched into tan skin. Rachel had gotten the tattoo shortly after Quinn had been released from the hospital, stumbling back into the apartment with Allison (who was grounded from Rachel immediately after). Quinn had wanted to tease her about it, but when Rachel explained her reasoning behind the impulsive purchase, well, Quinn had been far too speechless to do anything other than kiss Rachel senseless.

“Quinn,” Rachel mumbled, seconds later as Quinn continued to stroke over the bumps of Rachel’s spine and then back to swirl around the tattoo. Ever ticklish, Rachel squirmed and then rolled over, scooting right up against Quinn’s side carefully. “You ‘kay?”

“Just thinking,” Quinn responded, happily delving her fingers into Rachel’s hair and sliding the silky strands between her fingers, enjoying the sensation. 

“Yes, my psychic abilities picked up on that and woke me. Go back to sleep; you need to sleep.”

“I can’t,” Quinn said, wishing she could move both arms, missing the solid feel of Rachel gathered in them. Yet another frustrating thing she couldn’t do. She was not good at feeling helpless and limited. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Why?” Rachel asked groggily, freeing one arm from the comforter and throwing it over Quinn, eyes still stubbornly closed.

“Alarm’s going to go off soon.” Quinn remarked, turning away from Rachel’s adorable pout to squint at the alarm clock again and confirm her statement. “Don’t want to be late picking up Santana.”

Rachel groaned, raised her arm, and shook one tiny fist up at the ceiling. “Why can’t she just catch a cab?”

“That would be rude,” Quinn chided, doing her best impersonation of a Rachel Berry huff.

A heavy sigh warmed Quinn’s throat and then Rachel sat up glaring down at Quinn, which would have been intimidating if Rachel wasn’t also showcasing a serious case of sex hair. “Did you just call me rude? It’s Santana. She’s a gold medalist in the bitch category. Also, she hates me, as she’s made no effort to hide, so I’m not sure why I’m driving us to go pick her up. Not to also mention that you need rest, which I’m certain neither of us will be getting with her here.”

“We’re going,” Quinn said firmly, a small smile quirking her lips as she reached up to allow her hand to wander over all the newly exposed Rachelness. Maybe she was taking advantage of being able to blame the painkillers for her sudden bout of “handsiness” but she didn’t care. “She said she was looking forward to seeing you.”

“Why would she be looking forward to seeing me?” Rachel grumbled, propping herself up higher on one hand, apparently not too sleepy to devote herself to their conversation. “You’re her best friend, not me.”

Quinn hummed absently, mesmerized by the warm skin under her palm. “She said you two need to have a little ‘girl-talk’ – which probably means that she’s going to threaten you.”

“Quinn! And you – you’re – um…” Rachel shook her head and tried to glare harder while her stomach muscles kept jumping away from Quinn’s touch. “You’re just going to let her?”

“You keep saying that you can stand up for yourself and don’t need me to keep trying to be so heroic all the time,” Quinn pointed out, grin widening as she boldly cupped a breast and gently squeezed.

“And why should – why would – I – why – Quinn, do you mind? I’m trying to be angry and indignant!”

“You’re going,” Quinn said, reluctantly releasing Rachel’s breast in order to reach her cheek instead, thumb gliding along a cheekbone. "It's - I'm really tired of tiptoeing around you two. Santana coming up here is a big deal to me and her wanting to talk to you is major. She thinks that you're using me and I was hoping we could prove her wrong. You love proving people wrong."

“That is ridiculous,” Rachel argued. “I don’t need to prove myself to her – the only person’s opinion I care about is yours and you know better. I’m not using you.”

"I do know better. I just - I want - could you try? I'm not asking that you change anything. She's going to see what I do, that you're amazing and adorable and caring and - and then she'll stop ranting about how I'm an experiment."

Rachel’s eyes flashed dangerously, lip curling upward. “You are not an exp – “

“I know,” Quinn interrupted, before Rachel could enter into full rant mode. “It’s Santana, Rachel, and maybe you never saw it because, yeah, she and I have a weird relationship, but she is protective and... loyal. She needs to know that though, okay? Maybe not needs, but she wants to know that you’re not going to crush my heart and leave me eventually for some hot leading man who fits into your Broadway dreams better than I do.”

“One, I’m still offended. Two, I hate this. Three, I’m never leaving you. And four, nobody is ever going to fit into my dreams better than you.”

Quinn nodded, always touched to hear that verbalized, to hear that she was more than enough for Rachel, and pulled Rachel down so she could kiss her without straining her upper body too much. “Thank you. When we pick Santana up she’s going to realize all of that and it’ll be done with. Right now she’s just worried and thinking about the old you and Finn and all the crazy that was high school, so she trusts our relationship about as far as she could throw either of us.” An idea hit Quinn as her head sank back into her pillow and she looked up at Rachel with a smirk. “Okay, wait, maybe as far as she can throw me. You two are about the same size, like angry Keebler Elves. She could probably shot put you pretty far if she was angry enough.”

Rachel slumped back down with a grunt. “You do know that constantly teasing me isn’t going to make me magically grow taller, right?”

“Hmph, there goes that plan. Maybe I should sneak some HGH into your food. Oh well, you’re cute anyway. Fun sized like - like mini-Reeses… or a pocket rocket.”

“There are no words for you,” Rachel muttered, knocking her head against Quinn’s shoulder. “Did you really just compare me to a mini-candies and then a vibrator in the same sentence?”

“Both things are tiny bringers of joy,” Quinn said as seriously as she could. “Like you.”

“…I really hate you. Now I’m craving peanut butter cups.”

“You can get some of those organic ones you like tomorrow.” Quinn rubbed Rachel’s shoulder consolingly, pausing for a moment and then grinning again as she looked down Rachel’s blanket wrapped body. The heaviest haze of the drugs had passed and she was suddenly feeling very... awake. “You hate me, huh? Hate sex could be fun.”

“You did not just say that.” Rachel groaned again, legs twisting the blankets up further. “I double hate you.”

“Now you’re just teasing me.” Quinn sighed dramatically and pinched Rachel’s side in retaliation, smirking at the squeak Rachel let out as she sat up again. 

“Brat,” Rachel grumped, grappling for Quinn’s wrist to pull those adventurous pale fingers away. “I love you too much for hate sex… besides you’re wounded and under the influence of painkillers, and hypothetical hate sex sounds rough.”

Quinn turned her head to meet mischievous brown eyes and Rachel’s sly little grin. “Didn’t stop us earlier.” 

“That wasn’t hate sex, that was extremely gentle, super cautious, ‘I’m so glad you’re home and alive’ love-making. Very different from what you’re proposing.”

“Does that mean it was a one-off? Because I’m feeling very grateful to be alive and I think another gentle reminder could help me sleep. I’m sure I read somewhere that sex was fabulous for recovery. All the endorphins and what-not,” Quinn said, delighting in Rachel’s full body shiver when she returned her hand to a soft, ticklish stomach and swirled her fingers knowingly around a cute little belly-button.

Rachel’s breath hitched and Quinn knew she’d won. “What about - are you - did your medication wear off? Do you need some more? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m fine, I promise. You’re not going to hurt me.”

That seemed to be enough for Rachel. She bit her lip as she surveyed Quinn, no doubt trying to work out how to do what they both wanted without aggravating Quinn’s healing injuries. “No hickeys - or Santana will be worse than usual,” she warned, kicking the blankets down to the foot of the bed. 

“Or she might just respect you a little more…” Quinn bargained, loving the near predatory look on Rachel’s features.

“Stop talking, I’m trying to exercise restraint,” Rachel muttered, carefully angling her body over Quinn’s, her wolfish look gentling into something so caring and loving that Quinn couldn’t help but shiver.

She licked her lips and nodded obediently, stretching up to hold Rachel’s sides and pull her closer. “Yes Ma’am.”

\---

Getting to take Quinn home from the hospital was a day Rachel firmly regarded as one of the best of her life. It was like Hanukkah, her birthday, and every other important holiday she could think of all rolled into one. There should have been fireworks; it was worthy of that. She felt like she was finally back in some semblance of control, no longer at the mercy of the hospital and doctors. Sitting vigil at Quinn’s bedside had been depressing for both of them, the constant beep of the monitors an annoying reminder of where they were and why they were there. Rachel hadn’t slept much at all, terrified that if she closed her eyes even for a second Quinn would vanish – or worse, that she’d wake up to the sound of one long drawn out tone from the accursed monitor. 

But Quinn was home now, and safe, without the machines or nurses. Or at least without a hospital issue nurse, she had Nurse Berry in their stead. She was also now afforded all the comforts of home: her own bed, her cartoons, and her super soft Academy sweat pants that she so loved (and Rachel loved to steal). 

It was all driving Quinn crazy, of course. She could barely move, she was itchy, and the Percocet made her feel like a zombie. None of that mattered to Rachel, though she was upset that Quinn was in pain, she was too happy about having Quinn home to let anything bother her too much. There was also something about being able to take care of Quinn that settled the clamor in her heart. Quinn was always so independent and capable and Rachel was enjoying being the leaning post, Quinn’s safe place. This time she got to be the protector.

However this Santana business, which she understood was entirely her fault, was making her wonder if the hospital was all that bad. At least the hospital had rules… and security guards. Rachel understood that Santana was one of Quinn’s few close friends, but it didn’t make it any easier. To Rachel’s knowledge Santana had never changed her ways and unlike Quinn she remained just as sarcastic and downright mean as before, always adding a “just sayin’” to the end of her more damaging verbal assaults, as if that made it all better. She would always “tell it like it is”, and Rachel was not looking forward to being at the receiving end of some of, if not most of, Santana’s special brand of honesty.

“It’s not too late, we can turn around and tell her you had to go back to the hospital for torn stitches or something,” Rachel wheedled, glancing over at Quinn.

Quinn swiveled her head almost drunkenly in Rachel’s direction, hazel eyes glassy and unfocused with the effects of the morning dose of Percocet, her lopsided smile curling up the left side of her mouth. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not being mean,” Rachel protested, reaching over to wrap her hand around the back of Quinn’s neck, massaging gently. They were walking towards the airport, with Quinn swaying and walking so slowly that Rachel had to keep pausing so Quinn could catch up. “I’m merely exploring all avenues of escape.”

“Mean,” Quinn said, leaning more heavily into Rachel’s side, breath puffing out too quickly for such a short walk. “She could always stay at your apartment.”

“That’s hilarious – you’re hilarious.”

Quinn’s smile slipped into a wince as she half-tripped over her own feet, irritating her tender ribs with the harsh movement. “Ouch.”

“You okay?” Rachel asked for the millionth time, anxiety shooting up another notch when Quinn seemed to pale even further right before her. “I should have brought you a wheelchair.”

“I can – I can walk.” Quinn frowned, jerking unsteadily back up to her full height. “My ribs are – they hurt – my legs are fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’re recovering from a gunshot, you’re stoned, and I shouldn’t have let you talk me into…” Rachel bit her lip and shook her head. They’d both had maybe three hours of sleep total and Rachel had known better than to indulge Quinn, but she couldn’t stop herself. She needed the physical reminder as much as Quinn did. Plus a sleepy, cuddly, overly affectionate and handsy Quinn was impossible to deny. It didn’t make it any better, the lack of sleep, but in those moments after, feeling Quinn’s heart slow back down and hearing her, feeling her like that, it made Rachel feel better. The warm and loving reminder that they were both alive and maybe it really was going to be okay. Releasing her gentle grasp of Quinn’s neck she wound her arm around her hips instead, attempting to steady her. 

“I’m not stoned,” Quinn continued to argue, focused on her own feet with an adorable look of concentration. “I didn’t talk you into anything, you think I’m ire- ira – stable, um, can’t keep your hands off.”

“Okay, baby.” Rachel sighed, trying to shuffle them faster, out of the cold and where she could sit Quinn down. “You’re right, you’re irresistible.”

“Told ya,” Quinn said and winked sloppily.

“You did, so help me focus on walking and finding the fire-breathing dragon,” Rachel suggested. 

“There’s a dragon?”

“I meant Santana,” she explained patiently, swallowing a laugh at Quinn’s confused look. The effects would wear off eventually, Rachel knew that, but there was something about Quinn’s near childish personality and fumbling speech that she wanted to keep forever. She soaked it all in, trying to memorize everything, hoping that someday she’d look back and remember the after more than the cause of loopy Quinn.

“Mean!” Quinn shouted, pouting and wagging a finger in Rachel’s face.

\---

What felt like hours later they were finally sitting inside, “eagerly” awaiting Santana’s arrival into their midst. Quinn had fallen asleep shortly after slumping into a seat, plastered up against Rachel with her nose mashed into the base of Rachel’s throat. 

“Perfect,” Rachel groused, even as she reached up to palm the back of Quinn’s head, holding her close and scanning the crowd for any sign of their guest. “I get to be the welcome committee, hooray. You are so going to owe me later, Quinn.”

Santana’s flight was delayed, of course, for some godforsaken reason that Rachel couldn’t fathom. It wasn’t like the weather was bad or anything, and of course Santana had chosen an early flight – probably just to be a pain, so Rachel was trapped under Quinn’s exhausted weight, yawning and bleary eyed and watching for Santana to strut back into her life with all the enthusiasm of a cranky toddler. 

She distracted herself from impending doom by playing with Quinn’s hair, sighing contently when Quinn mumbled in her sleep and nuzzled closer, her good hand reaching up to tangle in the ends of Rachel’s hair in return. 

Rachel tried not to think about the bar, but in quiet moments (or quiet as they got in a noisy airport) without druggy Quinn to keep her occupied her mind would inevitably drift back. Quinn continued to say she was fine, that everything was fine, but she was still hurt and vulnerable and Rachel wanted to protect her, still vividly remembering Quinn dying. No matter how confident Quinn was, how solid and real, Rachel held her breath every time she watched Quinn breathe, waiting for movement and the sound of gentle exhalations before she could will her heart to keep on beating.

Every time she tricked herself into thinking that it was all going to be alright Quinn would wince or stumble or her breath would hitch and Rachel was reminded all over again how fragile they both were. No matter how she clung to memories of Quinn under and all over her, holding her and whispering her name, just hours before - no matter how hard she tried to think of Quinn minutes before, giggling about the various interesting people in the airport. The other memories were still there. 

“What kind of lackluster greeting party is this?” a familiar voice snapped, jarring Rachel back into the present so hard she nearly toppled Quinn. “No marching band? Where are my balloons and signs? The least you could have done was bring me coffee.”

“Santana!” Rachel snapped right back, mostly out of reflex, cradling Quinn more securely. She sighed heavily and would have pinched her nose if she’d had a free hand. It was for Quinn, she could be nice and do this one thing for Quinn. Kill ‘em with kindness, her father’s had often preached. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I meant hello, Santana, did you have a nice flight?”

Santana, who didn’t look like she’d aged a day since senior year, grinned down at them, all white teeth and dark eyes. Rachel tried and failed not to be reminded of a shark, plastering on a smile of her own despite hearing the faint dun-dun of the Jaws theme in the back of her mind. 

“It sucked. Good to see you, Elphaba. What’s up with Quinn?”

She was shot, you ass, was right on the tip of Rachel’s tongue, but she bit it back and shook her head instead. “The Percocet...”

“Oh, I thought maybe you’d tried too hard to turn her into Finn and irrevocably damaged her,” Santana said blandly, leaning on the handle of her luggage. That sharp grin turned more pointed and all Rachel could think was we’re going to need a bigger boat.

“Don’t be mean,” Quinn spoke up groggily, before Rachel could retort, picking her head up off of Rachel’s shoulder and waving lazily at Santana. “Hi, Doctor Lopez, long time no see.”

“Hey there,” Santana replied more gently, kneeling down and looking up at Quinn. “You look pretty pasty, Q, is the Drama Llama keeping you in a dank basement somewhere, only occasionally popping in to rub your head and murmur ‘my precious’?”

“No.” Quinn shook her head and then smacked a kiss to Rachel’s cheek. “She’s too small to be a llama.”

“True, but Alpaca doesn’t rhyme with drama,” Santana quipped. 

“They’re cuter though,” Quinn argued, grinning brightly at Rachel. “You’re cute.”

“This is going to be the longest three days of my life,” Rachel groaned piteously, looking up and wondering if God was laughing at her. 

\---

Fortunately, the drive back was fairly easy going. Santana was too distracted talking to Quinn to bother Rachel, and Rachel was pleased to see some color come back to Quinn’s face, even if it meant that Santana had put it there.

Unfortunately the peace only lasted as long as it took them to get Santana, Santana’s ridiculously heavy luggage, and Quinn back to the apartment.

“Wow, I’d have thought Ms. Twinkle-Twinkle would have a nicer place,” Santana sniffed, stepping into the home and striding around, inspecting everything - including running a finger over the entry table and sneering at the framed photo of Rachel and Quinn resting there. 

“This is Quinn’s place, Santana,” Rachel said lowly, bristling anew and holding more tightly to Quinn to remember why she was being civil to the devil. “And I’ll have you know that in the New York real estate market it’s very nice.”

“Well yeah, I guess for a GWoman it’s pretty good.” Santana shrugged and looped back around to take Quinn from Rachel’s arms, leaving her with the suitcase. “Come here, Q, Doctor Lopez needs to check and make sure those dumbasses did an okay job.”

Gritting her teeth, Rachel grabbed hold of the handle and started heaving the heavy bag down towards the guest room, muttering under her breath as she none-too-gently deposited it. She heard Quinn giggling in the living room and forced herself to take a calming breath. It was all for Quinn; she could survive anything for Quinn, especially considering that Quinn had recently taken a bullet for her. “Three days,” she told herself with a roll of her eyes and petulant kick at Santana’s suitcase. “It’s only three days.”

“Hey, Rachel,” Santana called, stressing over Rachel’s name like it pained her to use it. “Quinn’s hungry.”

Rachel slowly made her way back to the living room, ignoring the brush of jealousy when she saw Quinn’s head pillowed in Santana’s lap. “She is or you are?”

“Both?” Quinn suggested wearily, scratching at her arm through the sling. “Can I have alphabet soup?”

“You may have whatever you want,” Rachel said easily, relieved to hear Quinn asking for food. She’d get Quinn anything she wanted as long as she was actually eating it and not picking at it miserably. “Santana?”

“Whatever blondie wants is good with me,” Santana replied, ignoring Rachel completely as she batted Quinn’s hand away from the sling. “Don’t scratch, mamacita. You’re like a dog worrying a hot-spot.”

“How would you know?” Quinn asked, reluctantly doing as told and curling more closely into Santana. “I thought you hated dogs?”

“I do, but I’m an expert on bitches. Duh.”

Rachel pursed her lips, watching Santana dote on Quinn and wondering why it bothered her so badly – perhaps because it seemed so drastically out of character. When she couldn’t take all the questions bubbling up any longer she spun around to fix Quinn’s soup, keeping an eye on them through all her preparations and blatantly eavesdropping as Santana caught Quinn up on her adventures at the hospital she worked at, more than once stealing giggles from Quinn with her anecdotes. 

“I love my job; it’s truly my calling,” Santana sighed, glancing over her shoulder to grin dangerously at Rachel.

“Torturing interns is your true calling?” Rachel asked.

“No – making people as smokin’ hot as me,” Santana retorted, redirecting her smile to her lap when Quinn snickered. “I love making people over.”

Rachel bit her tongue to hold back a remark about Santana playing God, or perhaps a comment on the fakeness of plastic surgery unless medically necessary. Instead she turned her attention back to cooking, making sure not to burn the soup on the bottom of the pan. The last thing she needed was to mess up in front of Santana, she just knew she’d never hear the end of it.

Quinn didn’t have much of an appetite thanks to the drugs, so she put a smaller serving into a mug and then divided the rest into bowls for her and Santana. She thought about making Santana get her own, if only so she could steal her seat and get Quinn to herself again. 

Sighing as she remembered Quinn’s earlier words she resigned herself to being a good hostess, taking Quinn’s mug and Santana’s bowl over to the couch, a smile creeping across her face at the blissful expression on Quinn’s. Santana was gently scratching her nails along Quinn’s scalp and Rachel knew exactly what that did to Quinn, especially when she was sleepy already.

“Hey, don’t knock her out, she needs to eat,” Rachel mentioned, holding out the food for Santana. 

Santana didn’t say anything but raised her hand from Quinn’s hair, smirking when Quinn whined in protest. “Sorry, the lady has a point. Can you sit up?”

“I don’t want to,” Quinn groused, gritting her teeth and using her good arm to propel herself back into a sitting position, eyeing the mug being handed to her. “Thanks, Rach, it smells really good.”

“Anything for you,” Rachel said sweetly, ignoring the “gag” face that Santana pulled in response. “Try and finish it, okay?”

“‘kay,” Quinn agreed, licking her lips before tilting the mug to her lips, bypassing the spoon Rachel had put in it for her. 

Rachel shook her head and went to get her own lunch, trying not to pout as she sat down by Quinn’s feet, feeling like some sort of outcast... again. It wasn’t the least bit amusing to feel like she was sitting at the “losers” table again, watching the Cheerios across from her joke and chat with one-another. Maybe it was childish, she wasn’t too sure, but those feelings came back so easily, like they’d been lurking around just waiting for the chance to come up again. 

“Rach,” Quinn said, poking Rachel’s thigh with one foot. “Why’re you way down there?”

“Didn’t want to interrupt the Cheerio reunion.” Rachel ducked her head, pushing around the floating bits of letter shaped noodles in her soup. 

“Stop sulking, moody.” Santana sighed, rolling her eyes and waving a hand in the air. “If anything, and it actually pains me to say this, it’s more of a Glee-union. Why aren’t you chatting my ear off about your success story?”

“Do you honestly want to hear about it?” Rachel asked, barely able to keep the sarcasm out of her tone. Quinn turned to her, upper lip stained red from her soup, and a wounded look on her face. 

“Well I wasn’t expecting to have to ask her Majesty to regale me with tales of her stage conquests,” Santana said with a shrug. 

“Both of you be nice; I mean it,” Quinn grumbled, jabbing Santana hard in the ribs. 

“You heard her - be nice and tell me all about stardom.”

Trying not to seem too eager, Rachel tucked her hair back behind her ears and started from the beginning (because where else would one start?), telling her about auditioning and landing her current role. She was pleased when Santana didn’t interrupt too often and even seemed mildly interested, going so far as to ask a few questions.

As the conversation continued Rachel noticed that, while she’d captured Santana’s attention, Quinn was flagging. Her eyelids kept drooping down only to fly back open when her chin had almost hit her chest, over and over, until Rachel finally reached out and caught her face in both hands. 

“Quinn, you want to go lie down for a bit?”

“I’m offended on Rachel’s behalf that you weren’t enthralled,” Santana added with a raised eyebrow. 

“Mm, just for a bit, can’t leave you two alone too long. Cat’s in a bag,” Quinn mumbled, leaning her head further into Rachel’s palms. 

“Did she just call us pussies?” Santana wondered.

Rachel shook her head and stood up to help Quinn off the couch, supporting her to the best of her abilities. “Sorry, Santana, I’ll be right back - the remotes on the coffee table if you want to channel surf.”

“Yeah, yeah, holler if you need help with the druggie.”

Quinn didn’t reply and Rachel couldn’t think of anything to say, so she simply helped Quinn off the couch so they could shuffle down the short hall towards the bedroom. Getting her into bed was fairly easy: Quinn slipped right out of Rachel’s arms and onto the mattress quickly, sighing when her head hit the pillow. Rachel tucked her in, ever careful of her arm, dipping to kiss Quinn’s warm forehead. “You shout if you need me.”

“You could stay,” Quinn said, eyes already closed and voice breathy in a way that let Rachel know she was already half asleep. 

“Someone has to entertain our guest,” Rachel grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose at the idea. “I’ll come back and check on you though, okay?”

“Deal.” Quinn hummed and waved her good hand around. Rachel caught it from her perch on the edge of the bed and kissed Quinn’s knuckles to assure her that she was still there, holding on until she felt Quinn’s grip slacken enough to tell her she’d fallen asleep.

Smiling sadly Rachel put Quinn’s hand down and kissed her forehead again, just because she could, and then tiptoed back out of the room. It was only once she’d closed the door down to a small crack that it hit her she was now, basically, alone with Santana.

“Shit.”

She walked back to the living room like a person approaching the gallows, head hung low and taking her time to savor the quiet. 

Santana hadn’t turned on the TV like Rachel expected, instead sitting on the couch watching the hallway. Rachel hesitated just inside the hall, knowing that Santana could see her but still wondering if it was too late to run back to Quinn and take her up on the offer to join her nap. 

“We have some talking to do,” Santana said, instantly instilling dread. 

“We do?” Rachel asked, screwing her face up in what she hoped was an innocent yet curious expression.

“Don’t play stupid.”

Rachel huffed and stomped the rest of the way to the couch. “Is this where you threaten me if I’m not good to Quinn? Because honestly, Santa-”

“What happened?” Santana interrupted. “And don’t call me ‘Santa’ - do I look like a jolly fat man in a tracksuit to you?”

Blinking rapidly, Rachel sat down on the couch and smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in her jeans, brain short circuiting at the simple question. “Sorry?” was all she could finally say.

“For fu - Rachel, I didn’t come here to eat soup and listen to you talk about Broadway. What happened? How did Q - I need to know how she got shot so I can decide if I need to kick your ass and someone else’s or just the follando polla who shot her.”

To Rachel’s immense surprise - considering her audience - she burst into tears. Not the loud, sobbing-type bursting, but the kind where one second she was dry eyed and the next her cheeks were wet and she could barely see Santana. Exhaustion and panic overwhelming her in a split-second.

More shocking than that, Santana reacted by scooting across the sofa and wrapping an arm around Rachel’s shaking shoulders. “That’s what I thought. It’s alright, come on now. I’m mostly teasing; I know it wasn’t your fault.”

Rachel spilled the whole thing, choking over the story. She told Santana about Millie, the bar, Collin Curtis, seeing Quinn shot, the ambulance ride - everything. Through it all Santana sat stoically at her side, rubbing Rachel’s shoulders and occasionally nodding along. When Rachel finished and looked up she was caught off guard (again) by the wet sheen to Santana’s eyes. 

“Okay,” she whispered, as Rachel sucked in deep breath after deep breath. “Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Rachel snarled. “Okay?”

“There’s not a whole hell of a lot else for me to say, Polly Pocket.”

“Santana,” Rachel warned, swiping at her eyes and begrudgingly accepting the kleenex Santana offered. “Enough with the stupid name-calling. What do you mean ‘okay’? Nothing about this is okay.”

“Rachel, there’s nothing to say. Think about it. What am I supposed to say?” Santana asked. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know!”

“Exactly. I just wanted to know because I needed to. I’m not much good to either of you if I don’t know what happened. And now I know that I don’t need to kick your ass.”

Rachel laughed soggily, a little bitter. “Maybe you should.”

“Nah, I’d only have to do that if you were at fault, and you’re not, so I guess I packed the brass knuckles for no reason.”

“... you didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Santana teased, tugging Rachel more firmly into her side. “I mean, honestly, you and I have more to talk about, but right now I’m calling a temporary truce. Q’s my friend and... yeah, you are too. I figure right this second you don’t need much of my snark, but maybe more of a good listening ear - and I’ve got two to lend you.”

“Really?” Rachel blinked away the last of the tears caught on her eyelashes and glanced back up at Santana.

“Don’t make me say it twice - sorry, that was out of habit. Promise, truce is on.”

If anyone asked Rachel would say that Santana had been replaced by some sort of alien, but seeing as no one would believe her anyway she was left feeling like she’d been told the world’s best kept secret: Santana Lopez was actually pretty nice, once you got past all the cactus-like spines. 

They stayed out in the living room talking quietly until Quinn appeared behind the couch searching for her pill bottle. 

Once the mystery of the disappearing Percocet was solved things kind of went back to normal. As normal as they could be with Quinn standing up at one point and asking if she should take her pants off. With their newfound camaraderie Rachel found that having Santana around to share amused glances with was kind of fun.

For once she was part of the club.

It all sort of fell apart later that night after Santana had finally been chased off to bed and Quinn had been tucked back in. This time it was Rachel who lay awake, shuddering in the aftermath of a nightmare, and staring up at the ceiling listening to Quinn’s raspy breathing from next to her. 

She figured she could have expected it - what with the stress of having Santana around again, coupled with the draining conversation they’d had earlier. Still, there was really no way to prep for a nightmare and, though it was the same one she’d been having ever since the “incident”, she found no comfort in knowing what was going to happen whilst trapped in it. 

It was always blood and Quinn and white sheets draped over pale, dead faces. The long whine of a heart monitor line gone flat. 

Rachel tossed again, rolling on to her side to face Quinn. Quinn snorted and grumbled in her sleep when Rachel reached out to touch her cheek. She watched as Quinn’s chest moved up and down but couldn’t shake the image of the ventilator. 

Not wanting to wake her, Rachel was overly careful as she climbed out of bed, freezing every time she moved and waiting to hear Quinn’s breathing change or for her to say something.

She really wasn’t proud of the fact that she’d become something of an expert at leaving the bed without waking Quinn.

The apartment was dark, save for the light above the stove that they left on just in case, no longer as comfortable in the shadows of night as they used to be.

Rachel fell onto the couch, groping around until her fingers found the remote. The flash of the television turning on briefly blinded her, a fresh stab of pain to already tender and puffy eyes. She shook it off, flicking through the channels until she landed on Animal Planet; a small smile   
quirked up her lips as she settled back into the cushions and dragged a blanket over her shivering body. 

On the screen the narrator continued to teach her about the nurturing habits of elephants and she let herself fall into the world of the savannah, so distant and bright from where she was.

\---

Santana woke to the sounds of a television. Used to sleeping in deathly silence, even the slightest of sounds woke her now. She tried not to think that it meant that she was getting old, always remembering those days when she could sleep through anything and stay up much later without feeling like the world was going to end.

Worried that it was Quinn sleep walking or something, she threw the blankets back and stumbled out of bed muttering to herself. If it was Quinn and Rachel wasn’t aware of her escapee girlfriend Santana was going to have to tack on another point for their discussion.

But when she exited her room and made her way into the modest living room it wasn’t Quinn moving around in a drugged haze, but Rachel. 

Santana sighed heavily, shoulders slumping, and rubbed at her face wearily. She had a hunch about why Rachel would be up and really hoped she was wrong. It was late and she wasn’t very good at “pep talks” anyway, let alone when she was sleep deprived. 

Not hearing any signs of crying - thank GOD - she considered going back to bed to let Rachel work through her stuff on her own, but that damned angel on her shoulder, her conscience or whatever, was prodding her and she decided that she could be nice for awhile longer. 

“You know, studies show that watching TV before bed is really fuckin’ shitty for sleep.”

Santana had to give her credit; Rachel didn’t even flinch at the sudden comment. When she turned to look up, however, Santana’s stomach did a crazy flip and she was rushing around the couch before she could remind herself how uncool that would be. Rachel’s eyes were red, even in the gloom Santana could see it. Bloodshot and puffy with big ol’ dark circles underneath, her eyes stood out against skin that was normally a softer shade of tan, not so much the current deranged hobo pale. 

“Right. Nightmares?” she asked pointedly.

“Wow, that MD was worth every penny,” Rachel huffed, turning her attention back to the screen. The flickering lights accented the things Santana had missed earlier, like the sharpness of Rachel’s cheek bones and the fine lines around her mouth. 

“Hey, sarcasm is my thing. Get your own,” Santana shot back, hesitantly reaching to touch Rachel’s hair. “Talk to me, Goose.”

“Last I checked you’re a boob doctor, not a therapist,” Rachel sniped.

“Remember that truce I called earlier? Seriously reconsidering,” Santana growled and tugged on Rachel’s hair. “Come on, we were making progress earlier; I’m not out here to show off my pajamas. See my face? This is concern.”

“I’m sorry,” Rachel whispered softly, moments later. “I’m tired and scared. It turns me in to you.”

“You wish it turned you in to me,” Santana teased lightly, growing braver and delving her fingers a bit further into Rachel’s hair, scratching at her scalp like she’d done to Quinn earlier. “Why are you scared?”

“Because I had a nightmare.” Rachel said blandly with an eyeroll that probably could have been seen from space.

Santana decided to give her a pass on that one. “About Quinn?” 

Rachel nodded shortly, turning back to Santana once more. “Does it ever - don’t you ever get tired? You know, of being so... all the time?”

“Sometimes. It’s sort of hardwired in now, but it keeps me safe.” Santana shrugged. 

“Safe from what?”

“Everyone,” she answered bluntly and tilted her head. “Want to tell me about that dream now?”

“I see Quinn and all the blood and I can’t stop it - she’s bleeding to death and I can’t stop it and then her body with a sheet over it and I can only see her face. Her eyes are - they’re blank, Santana. Then they cover her face and I hear the monitor stop beeping.”

Wordlessly Santana slipped her hand from Rachel’s hair and stretched around her shoulders, fingers gently hooking and then pulled her over. Rachel didn’t protest at all, limply following the silent request and laying her head against Santana’s shoulder. “You know what?”

“What?”

“You saved Quinn that night. Not the doctors. You did. You fought for her and you won. She’s down the hall right now and, yeah, she’s hurt but she’s recovering. She’s alive and she freakin’ loves you - and I don’t need to be a doctor to tell you that having someone to fight for... that saves more lives. It’s the ones who fight to stay because they’ve got someone like you on their side who won’t give up on them - those are the ones that live to show off their scars.” Santana brought her other hand up, no longer timid, and started stroking Rachel’s hair. “You’re a hero, Tiny.”

“You really think so?” Rachel asked tiredly, hugging Santana tightly. 

“Would I say it if I didn’t?”

“Good point.”

“So why are you out here?” 

“I didn’t want to wake her up or add to everything else she’s dealing with,” Rachel admitted and Santana shook her head. 

“You can’t let it win like that,” Santana scolded, gentling her words with a warm rub at the base of Rachel’s tense neck. “I know Q: she’d be all guilty if she found out your bad dreams about her were chasing you out of bed.”

“I hate when you make sense. I didn’t think about her feeling guilty.”

Grinning, Santana pried Rachel’s arms from around her and pushed her back into a sitting position. “Get used to it; me being right, I mean. Now, shouldn’t you be asleep? As a doctor I feel it totally within my rights to lecture you about proper rest. Especially after a traumatic experience. Your body and that crazy brain of yours need to chillax or you’re going to end up so wound up you’ll break something. Besides, if we stay out here any longer I’m going to have to start charging by the hour.”

Rachel smiled, so sweetly that Santana almost felt bad for the plan she had hatched earlier in the day.

Almost.

“Thanks.”

Shuddering for effect Santana reared back and shook her finger in Rachel’s face. “Don’t thank me, it’s gross.”

\---

Rachel returned to the bedroom full of purpose and hope, ready to crawl back under the blankets to hold on to Quinn and never let go. But she stopped at the foot, feeling near paralyzed by the sight of Quinn. Not that she could really see her, but she could see enough and as her eyes readjusted she could see more. The blues and whites of Quinn’s sling and pale skin were illuminated by the shine of the moon, her blonde hair splayed out against the pillow. 

She wrapped her arms around her stomach, shivering in the chilly room, and watched Quinn sleep. Wondering how it was that her life had led her there. Quinn had been important to her before, in school, for reasons that she could never quite work out for herself. She wrote it off as longing to be popular, to fit in, to be like Quinn who could seemingly do no wrong (and even when she did she was forgiven). Later she told herself that she just wanted to be Quinn’s friend, a real friend, because as popular as Quinn was she always seemed so sad and broken, lonely and Rachel was too, so why couldn’t they just be friends?

Quinn had somehow broken Rachel, but not in a bad way per se. She’d shattered all of Rachel’s defenses and pre-conceived notions of what her life should be and fit herself seamlessly into the cracks, mending and filling the spaces and now Rachel didn’t know... she didn’t know how she could possibly remove Quinn without cutting herself to ribbons. Nearly losing her had made Rachel aware of how deeply wound together they were. Maybe over time the wounds of Quinn’s loss would heal over, but Rachel didn’t want to think about it. Ever.

It was ridiculous, really. Didn’t make any sense how a single person could so utterly destroy and repair at the same time. Because that was thing about Quinn, about being with Quinn: she was slowly, but surely, navigating around the sharp shards of the broken pieces Rachel had and putting them back together, stronger than before, reinforcing the weak spots.

Rachel shuddered to think what actually losing Quinn would do to her. She’d thought there’d been bad break ups before. Sworn that she’d never get over Finn leaving her. Now she knew better. 

She’d found the love she’d always wanted and it was far scarier than it ever looked on stage or in movies. 

The sheets rustled as Quinn stirred and a soft whimper broke the silence and the heaviness of Rachel’s thoughts. 

“Rachel?”

“Right here,” Rachel responded around the lump in her throat. She rushed forward clumsily, running her inner thigh into the footboard in her haste. It would bruise, but Rachel didn’t care at the moment as she scooped up Quinn’s good hand. “I’m right here.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Are you coming back to bed?” Quinn asked drowsily. “Please?”

“You don’t have to say please,” Rachel chided, carefully crawling over Quinn’s legs back to her side of the bed. She slid back into the now cool sheets she’d left earlier and pulled the blankets tightly around them both. “Are you okay?”

“Better now,” Quinn said, fumbling around for Rachel’s wrist and tugging her closer when she found it. “You’re cold.”

“I’ll warm right up,” Rachel assured her, sinking into the protective warmth of Quinn’s side. “I’ve got my blonde bonfire.”

Quinn nodded and turned to kiss Rachel’s forehead, missing entirely and getting Rachel’s eye instead. “Oops. Love you.”

Rachel smiled and burrowed closer, listening closely for any sign that she was hurting Quinn and closed her eyes when she heard no such sound. “Love you too, Q.”

\---

The next morning Rachel slithered out of bed again, leaving Quinn to sleep off the rest of her medication while she took a quick shower. She felt like she’d been scrubbed clean and found herself humming as she turned on the water and stepped into the warm spray.

Content and lost in the music that had come back to her, she failed to hear the bathroom door open and close again, missing the slap of bare feet against the linoleum and the shadow of someone standing on the other side of the curtain. 

She definitely noticed when said curtain was suddenly ripped open.

Shrieking loudly, she jumped and scrambled for some sort of bludgeoning tool to defend herself, whirling back around armed with her bath sponge only to see Santana standing there with one eyebrow arched and that sinister grin back in place.

“Santana!”

“The time has come for our little heart-to-heart,” Santana announced, not the least bit shy about checking Rachel out. “Huh, so that’s what you’ve been hiding all these years.”

Squeaking out another protest Rachel tried to cover herself, reaching down then back up then back down, unsure how to cover all the important bits from Santana’s roaming eyes. Finally she settled for holding the bath sponge between her legs and crossing her other arm across her chest. “What is wrong with you! I’m naked!”

“Noted,” Santana replied casually and leaned against the wall. “I decided this was the best place to have our chat.”

“Because you’re a psychopath!” Rachel screeched. “Get out!”

“Nope, no can do.”

Rachel stared at her, mouth opening and closing a couple of times, huddled against the corner with water dripping down her face. “What possible torment do you have in mind that requires me to be nude?”

“Please, I can’t give away all my secrets,” Santana waved a hand dismissively. “Can we talk?”

“No!”

“See,” she continued anyway. “You’re sort of dating my best friend and it’s kind of a serious deal for me, and I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t do my job in giving you the talk.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! You’re not Quinn’s mother! And even if you were I don’t care what you think!”

Santana ‘tsked’ and waved her finger. “Yes you do.”

“Do not!”

“Do too.”

“Do no - for fuck’s sake!”

“You’re also scared of me,” Santana added with a harsh smirk that hid a tinge of bitterness.

“Wouldn’t you just love that,” Rachel spat. “Sorry, but I stopped being afraid of you and started feeling sorry for you a long time ago.”

“Aw, I almost believed that,” Santana said sweetly. “But enough of that. We need to talk about the fact that you’re sleeping with Quinn.”

“Excuse me?” Anger rose up, adding heat to Rachel’s already burning cheeks and ears. “I’m not sleeping with her like... like a – we’re practically living together. And our private lives are none of your business anyway, so you and your –“

Santana snapped her fingers, stopping Rachel’s tirade. “Whatever. Here’s the rub - I’ve sat by and watched assholes and bitches toy with Quinn. They date her for popularity or to get their experimental phase out of the way or to... God, I don’t even know what Laura was doing with her. Thing is, I watched it happen again and again and I’m sort of tired of people treating Q like an object. Woman’s got serious feelings and enough emotional baggage to break an elephant's back.” Santana’s bored expression morphed in seconds to something so furious that Rachel squeaked again, certain that she’d see steam come out her nostrils like an enraged bull. “Short of it is that I’m not going to sit idly by while you do the same shit to Quinn. She deserves to be happy and loved - really loved. That’s all she’s ever wanted and Mommy and Daddy Fabray only made that worse. Can you imagine living a life where your own parents don’t love you? She loves you for whatever reason and I can’t let you play with her emotions. She’s not a placeholder or second best option. Definitely not some way for you to get back at Finn for some over-held teenage grudge. If I hear that you’ve broken her heart and run off into the arms of some Broadway, fake-tanned, bleach-mouthed, hunk of the week, I’ll kill you. I get that relationships sometimes run their course but heaven help you... just... you get me, Frodo?”

“Do I get you?” Rachel repeated lowly, hands shaking as she glared at Santana, teeth bared in a snarl. “Do I get you? How dare you!”

Santana opened her mouth to rebut but Rachel cut her off, straightening back up and completely forgetting all modesty as she fumed under the spray of the shower. “Let me be abundantly clear. Quinn’s and my relationship is ours not yours or anyone elses. What goes on between the two of us is our business and I’ll be damned before I let you talk to me like that - like I’m some sort of dick who is using Quinn with no consideration for her feelings. I should be giving you the lecture! How - I - ugh!” Rachel slapped the wall and felt a short lived thrill of victory when Santana flinched. “I love Quinn, and not that it’s any of your business to hear it and judge my feelings, but I love her and I have no desire to ever be without her! I’m not a cheater, nor am I using Quinn to experiment or to add some sort of sapphic footnote to the ‘wild days’ section in my biography! I’m certainly not out to get back at Finn Hudson! I have every intention of spending the rest of my life with Quinn if she’ll have me. I can somewhat appreciate that you’re being protective but that’s not your fucking job, it’s mine! Alright? So back off!”

Santana eyed her coolly and Rachel wondered if they were actually going to end up in a physical altercation. She clenched her hands into fists at her side and told herself she was ready to beat the crap out of Quinn’s best friend to defend their relationship.

Then Santana started laughing and Rachel shook her head, exasperated. “What is so funny!”

“Nothing, little mama, nothing at all. I just wanted to hear you say it, that’s all.”

“What?” Rachel roared, sure that she was going to go blind with rage. 

“Yup, totes just wanted to make sure you were aware of what’s going on and not too ball-less to stand up for yourself. I saw you dissolve away when you were with Finn and it pissed me off; glad to see you got your cajones back. I thought that bastard had full on spayed you.”

“You, you are - there aren’t words for you!” Rachel shouted, looking down when she saw Santana’s eyes slip down again. “Stop looking at me!”

“Not even sorry.”

Rachel hastened to cover herself up again, blushing all the way to the tips of her ears. “I hate you,” she groaned, trying to twist away from Santana. 

“Oh and... Rachel - God, that word still tastes like cheap cigar to say - what’s with the girly tattoo? I mean I approve of you getting inked, kinda hot, but seriously?”

“No, we’re done so get out; we’re not talking anymore while I’m naked. Or ever, actually.”

“Was that a proposition?”

“Santana!” Rachel glanced over her shoulder and saw Santana still standing there, looking quite pleased with herself and far too comfortable. 

“Tell me about the tattoo and I’ll leave. Otherwise I’m going to start shouting about how I don’t want to have sex with you until it wakes Quinn up.”

“You’re evil,” Rachel hissed. “Pure, nasty, deplorable evil. I can’t believe I thought for one second that you’d grown up and were actually kind of decent!”

“Best stop with the compliments, chica, and get to explaining.”

“It’s, god,” Rachel seethed and smacked her head against the wall a couple of times. “It’s the first two notes for ‘Get it Right’, okay?”

“The song you sang to Finn?” Santana asked, clearly unimpressed. 

“No, you idiot, it was never for Finn; it was for me and I wrote it with Quinn’s, uh... help.”

“... That’s so sappy I’m actually kind of queasy,” Santana commented, wrinkling her nose.

“Can you get out, please? Now.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure... looking good, by the way. Nice to see you lost the baby fat.”

“Santana,” Rachel grumbled, wishing her crazy dream would be over soon and Santana would vanish in a plume of reddish-orange smoke and burst of flame. “I swear, I know people - people who will dispose of your body where no-one will ever find it.”

“Geeze, it was just a compliment. I’m going.”

\---

When Rachel left the shower she checked and double checked for any sign of Santana, waiting to pop up and ambush her. Deciding that coast was clear she still sprinted from the steam filled bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and flopped down face first onto the bed with a loud groan, knowing that she was getting the bed wet but so far beyond caring. She laid there for awhile, trying to work through what had just happened to her and didn’t see Quinn crack open an eye. 

“I think that went well,” Quinn commented.

Rachel shrieked for the second time that morning and rolled right off the bed.

“I don’t think that was nec - ness - needed.”

Slowly like an overly cautious gopher, Rachel popped her head back up over the edge of the bed. “Don’t do that, I’ve had enough surprises to last me awhile.”

“Sorry,” Quinn said with a sheepish smile. “You’re naked.”

“Did you hear that whole conversation?” Rachel asked, sighing as she slid back on top of the blankets.

“Mhm,” Quinn hummed, reaching out immediately for the moist skin so gloriously exposed to her. “You two are loud.”

“And you - you’re not angry?” Rachel huffed, but squirmed over a few inches so Quinn wouldn’t have to stretch so far. 

“Should I be?”

“Quinn! Santana just - she just accosted me in our shower!”

Quinn frowned and paused in her exploration. “She touched you?”

“No! Of course not, but she - you have no problems with what she said to me?” Rachel demanded, sitting up on her elbows to glower over at Quinn. 

“I liked what you said,” Quinn replied, grinning lopsidedly. “It was sweet.”

“Quinn, if Kurt or Allison said something like that to you I’d be furious,” Rachel explained with as much patience as she could muster, squinting as she tried to figure out how much was actually getting through to Quinn. 

“Who said Kurt and Allison didn’t both say stuff to me?” Quinn wondered.

“Wait. They - they did?”

“Yeah, Kurt threatened to stab me with a pair of tailor scissors and Ali said she’d drop a, um, chandelier on me or something... if I wasn’t good to you.” Quinn wrinkled her nose. “I was mad at first but it was kind of nice of them to worry about you.”

Rachel snapped her mouth closed and shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Quinn shrugged, winced, and then repeated the motion with only her good shoulder. “Why would I? They were being good friends and I told them I wasn’t going to hurt you. You knew all that already, I think. You do don’t you?”

“Well I - I,” Rachel stammered and dropped her face into her pillow. “This isn’t fair.”

“Huh?”

“I said this isn’t fair,” Rachel repeated, turning her head so the pillow was no longer muffling her voice. “Now I can’t be mad.”

“Um, you do know, right?” Quinn asked, blinking heavily against the hold of the drugs. “I - everything you said to Santana, you know I feel the same way?”

“Yes, Quinn,” Rachel sighed, awkwardly reaching back to nab Quinn’s hand. “Of course I know.”

“I’ll yell at Santana if you want me to.”

“No,” Rachel shook her head and rolled her eyes. “No, don’t do that. She was actually really nice yesterday and it would be hypocritical of me to want you to yell at her unless I went and yelled at Allison and Kurt too.”

“I – I know that I’m a mess, Rachel,” Quinn continued moments later, playing idly with Rachel’s fingers. “I’m not – with my parents and – I think I push too hard sometimes. Chase people away trying to make it work. I just I want that – “ her eyes welled up with tears and Rachel shot up, heart in her throat, to reach out and carefully pull Quinn into her arms. “I want someone to love me back.”

“I do,” Rachel swore, trying not to aggravate Quinn’s injuries but wanting to hold her as tightly as possible. “I love you. All of you. You’re not alone - you know that - and you know that I’ve struggled just as much. Loving someone with all you are only to watch it crumble away. Like it’s never enough, like the love you give isn’t enough.”

“You’re the only person that I – that hasn’t run.”

“That’s because I’m smart as well as talented, – I know how special you are and I’m not stupid enough to let you go.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” Quinn mumbled into Rachel’s collarbone. 

“We’re both disasters.” Rachel rolled her eyes and set her cheek against the crown of Quinn’s head. “You’re my favorite disaster. A beautiful disaster.”

“You’re not going to start singing, are you?”

“Don’t ruin my moment.”

“I would never.” Quinn sighed heavily, squirming further in Rachel’s arms. “You’re all wet.”

“That’s not something you normally complain about,” Rachel teased, wanting to lighten the mood a bit further. As much as the conversation prior was necessary, Quinn was still exhausted and Rachel didn’t want to wear her too thin. 

Quinn giggled, lightly biting Rachel’s shoulder. “Perv.”

“Speaking of perv, it kills me to admit this but… I think I owe Santana a thank you. She’s annoying, but that weasel is good at digging up things and then making you feel stupid for not noticing them earlier.”

“She’s pretty smart. If it makes you feel better, she likes you,” Quinn said, tilting her head up with a bright smile. “She’s only like this with people she likes.”

“That is both a blessing and a curse,” Rachel pointed out, grimacing at the thought that Santana might now see shower conversations as perfectly normal and okay.

“More one than the other, most days,” Quinn joked. 

Rachel could only snort in response. 

\---

By the time they dropped Santana off at the airport to begin her long flight back to LA Rachel was almost sad to see her go.

Almost.

Sure she’d continued to be brash and obnoxious the rest of her visit, but she’d also backed off Rachel quite a bit and her presence had cheered Quinn up considerably. The verbal sparring between them had been less biting and more teasing, leaving Rachel with the feeling that she’d finally made it to equal ground with Santana. Not something she’d known she wanted until she had it. 

For as sarcastic and awful as she could be, Santana was also warm and caring, outright doting on Quinn and even teaching Rachel to make a few dishes that Quinn loved. They hadn’t spoken about the late night conversation or “shower incident” as Rachel thought of it, but Santana’s attitude had softened to bearable levels. Her more predatory nature transformed in to a more loving, rascally type. From shark to mother elephant, just like Rachel had seen on the television. Playful but protective of Quinn and Rachel, something which she’d demonstrated to frightening and hilarious levels when Ryan had showed up with Allison. The combination of Ryan and Santana in the same room had Rachel worried that they might cause some sort of world implosion, and they’d nearly killed Quinn with laughter that her ribs and damaged lung had not appreciated. They’d lived through hurricane Santana, though she’d tossed around feelings and blasted into their hearts, unearthing things that left new wreckage exposed for both Quinn and Rachel to pick over together.

For that alone Rachel would be grateful for the visit. Sometimes a little destruction was good for the soul in the long run. 

Still, the second they pulled away from the ever busy airport, Rachel let out a huge sigh and dropped her head back against the seat. A wave of tension rolled out leaving her body worn but a smile on her face. “It’s over. I survived!”

Quinn grinned over at her, a little misty eyed after her long farewell. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

“Wasn’t so bad?” Rachel repeated incredulously. “Quinn, do you not remember waking up to see Santana standing next to the bed like the demon possessed woman in Paranormal Activity? Because I do and I’m pretty sure I’ll be having nightmares about it for forever.”

“She did?” Quinn pursed her lips and reached up to scratch at her sling, whining petulantly when Rachel batted her hand away. “Ow.”

“Don’t scratch,” Rachel reminded sternly. “How much of the weekend do you actually remember?”

“Um, it’s all kind of blurry,” Quinn said, squinting out the windshield like the action might clear up her memories. “I remember talking and soup, half of the movie we went to see, and feeling like I got run over by a train the morning after Ryan came over.”

“So you don’t remember Santana and I yelling at each other? Or the conversation after that?”

“You’re always yelling at each other,” Quinn grumbled, trying to sneak a quick scratch. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Rachel reached across and grabbed Quinn’s hand, holding it firmly. “Don’t. Scratch.”

“It itches,” Quinn complained. 

“It’s in your head,” Rachel said, maintaining her grip on Quinn’s hand, even though it required her to stay stretched out somewhat uncomfortably. She tugged until Quinn moved her hand over to where Rachel didn’t have to strain as far to hold it. 

“I remember talking to you,” Quinn said, squeezing Rachel’s hand weakly. “I remember that I love you, a lot.”

“That’s comforting,” Rachel replied with a small smile. “I love you mucher.”

“Not a word,” Quinn teased in a fair impression of Rachel’s haughtiest tone. “Doesn’t count. I win.”

“I disagree; I think I win because I had to make up a word to encompass the size of my love. All the other words don’t work.”

“…Cheater. That smooth talk will get you everywhere.”

“Oh really?” Rachel asked, casting a smoldering glance Quinn’s way, basking in the soft blush dusting Quinn’s cheeks.

“Mhm,” Quinn hummed, looking up at the ceiling rather than at Rachel who kept making her laugh.

“You’re cute.”

They rode in silence a few minutes until it occurred to Rachel...

“So, you know, you’ve been really cool about the fact that Santana saw me naked...”

“Wait. What?”


End file.
